


threads

by mightyleviathan



Category: Bat Boy: The Musical - O'Keefe/Farley/Flemming
Genre: (not edgar), Canon Typical Incest, Canon Typical Violence, Canon character deaths, F/M, and medicine. and inpatient mental health treatment facilities, and nature, im doing my best with what i was given, inaccurate depictions of the american justice system, which tells you more about the plot than the summary does oops!!, while not doing a dumb amount of research because this is bat boy: the musical im talking about here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightyleviathan/pseuds/mightyleviathan
Summary: She breaks his fall.





	1. epilogue

“_EDGAR.” _he calls. “Are you hungry?”

_ Oh no. Oh nononononononono. _That’s all Shelley can think as she sees her dad raise the blade to his throat and her mother run, hand out to stop him.

And Edgar sitting up as he moves towards the growing gash in her father’s throat.

“_EDGAR.” _She calls in a panic. Her feet don't move. She can’t scream, or even breathe. His name is the only thing her useless body will allow to fall through her lips. He freezes in place, still gazing openly at the gash. But- still. He pauses. Hesitates. He’s listening.

It’s enough to keep her going.

“Look at me,'' she pleads. “Edgar, _ look at me!”. _There’s movement out of the corner of her eye, to her left, where her parents were. She hears a thud. A heavy one.

He stares in that direction, eyes wide. It takes all her strength to not follow suit.

She looks at _ him _ instead, as he turns around to meet her gaze. Just a couple hours ago and a few miles away, she was in his arms, and he was in hers. They were starting a new life. They were happy, they were _ content _\- perceived betrayal aside. 

What the _ fuck _happened?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _ sor- _” his chest heaves as he whispers, hands shaking.

“Don’t be,” her voice cracks as she kneels unsteadily in the tall grass. “None of this is our fault, okay?” His head shakes _ no, no _ , closing his eyes tightly as tears began to slip from them. “Edgar- _ look at me” _ Shelley pleads. _ If I can just keep him focused, distracted, _ she thinks. _ Maybe she’ll be enough, For once in her life. _ He opens his eyes and- _ oh _ . Just look at him. She’s really envied him sometimes, these past few months. The fact that he never even _ tried _ to hide his feelings; his distress, his pain, his shame. He never learned how. He never learned he _ had _ to. Kind of like a kid. He never needed to hide his heart and his guts all those terrible squishy inner parts with an armor of ripped jeans and desperate display of _ cool cool cool cool cool I’m cool. _In his unwavering and raw vulnerability, she sees that sweet boy who watched her study. Who doted on her, no matter what names she called him. Who used keep her up at night howling back at neighborhood dogs. 

She sees that boy- and thank god. He’s still there. No matter what he thinks, they haven’t broken him just yet.

There are gasps and shrieks and mutterings of calling 911, but her ears are deaf to them. She can’t let herself hear them- not right now. She can’t think about what her dad just did. Or the fact that she has yet to hear even a gasp, sob, or scream from her mom. She can’t think about that heavy _ thud. God _ , it was heavy. If his eyes leave hers she doesn’t know what will happen. What’ll happen if she sees what’s four feet behind him to the left. But right now- in this little bubble she’s made for them, they see each other. They have each other. She could almost almost let her mind float away, pretend it’s the same as it was. It can't be, of course. She's not that far removed from reality to forget that thought is- _ hideous disgusting don’t ever say that again- _ But _ , _ even though they _ aren't _ the same, they’re still those stupid kids who danced on each others toes and couldn’t care less. That's what matters, now.

“Come here,” She smiles shakily, “please,” she asks. Her voice cracks. She can’t help herself, she begs. _ “Please." _she whispers.

After a sob and a heaved breath he starts the tortuous three yard journey, with something between a limp and a crawl.

When he makes it, when he’s right there before her- all they do for a second is stare. She breaks first. “Oh, my sweet boy” she whispers, bringing a shaky hand up to caress his face. That’s all it takes. Her lungs at long last allow her to exhale. He collapses and she holds him. Eyes closed, just his fuzzy head cradled to her chest, smelling of salt, iron, and maybe just a little bit of manure. Sniffling and broken and alive. He’s _alive_, and he’s in her arms and the rest of the world might as well be nothing but static. She doesn’t know how long they stay in limbo, before reality bangs hard enough on her consciousness to bring a piece of her back to earth.

“_Sweet Wounded Jesus _,” a voice gasps.

“You’re late” comes the cracking voice of the sheriff.

_ Oh. _Shelley recalls a tidbit from just minutes ago, overshadowed by- everything.

_ The institute. _

More voices come after- _ familiar _ voices. Wracked with emotions she can’t place and doesn’t care to. Shelley feels a lot of things. Fear, Anger, Disgust. Empty. A deep, bleeding pit from the center of her heart where her _ Thomas and Meredith Parker _ have dug themselves out with their fingernails. She breathes deeply and focuses on the scent of his head and the scratch of the rock digging into her shin. She settles on anger.

She looks up and meets the stares of a dozen people she’s known her entire young life. (Which they had just royally _ fucked. _) She turns to the unfamiliar man in the jacket, careful not to focus let her eyes focus on the lump on the ground, where her parents should be standing.

“What are you gonna do with him”

Before the man can speak, Sheriff Reynolds steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder as if to tell him he's got it covered. Wincing and easing one hand to the small of his back, he crouches on one knee in front of them, keeping a safe distance. He raises his other hand cautiously, as if to say _ easy there _ , _ I’m not gonna hurt ya. I'm with you, kiddos! Let me prove I care by making an unnecessary amount of eye contact and joining your achy knees club! How late do the after school meetings run? _

“Shel, all he’s here to do- all we _ want _is to get to the bottom of whatever the hell happened just now, and whatever the hell happened to Ruthie and Rick. And in order to do that, we’re gonna need to talk to Edgar, and we're gonna need to run some tests-“

“So you’re gonna, what? Lock him up? Put him in a straight jacket? Let him be turned into a lab rat? What happened to charity, _ sheriff. _” She spits.

“-No, Shelley. No. We’re going to keep an eye on ‘im and see if we can find out what’s goin’ with him and whatever the heck it was your daddy was talking about. And hopefully, that will help us help _ him. _” he finishes, gesturing at Edgar, who’s face hadn’t lifted off the fabric of her dress since it got there.

“Are they gonna take care of him? _ Feed _him?” she presses.

“Well,” he begins, “I assume getting him settled and comfortable will be the first thing-“

“That isn’t what I asked” she interrupts, shaking her head.

The sheriff pauses for a moment, considering. “You’re right. It isn’t.” he concedes. “Shelley, listen,” he starts again after seeming to gather his thoughts for a moment, “I will not let any harm come to either of you kids. I may have had some serious lapses in judgement lately, but I’m not a monster. Now, I can’t tell you what exactly is gonna happen next, what the folks over at the institute will decide to do, what we’ll find in our investigations, but-“ he continues, “I can promise you this. No more _ mobs _ from here on out.” he says evenly, face hardening as he directs his gaze to the townspeople. “the right to judge is reserved for the lord and the law.” Reynolds declares to the catatonic townsfolk. Turning back to the two of them he continues “Beyond that, despite the… _ unique circumstances, _ I will make sure _ both _ of you will have your rights respected and needs met. And I trust the folks at the institute will do that for him. I’ve met a _ lot _ of people over my years in law enforcement who’ve had their lives saved by that place. They’ll know what’s best probably better than anyone.” He looks at them gravely. “I would trust them with my _ own _ children. No harm will come to either of you. Which means… that he will be _ fed_. I’ll see to that.”

She lets his speech sit for a minute. Let’s him squirm. “Do I have your word of honor?” she asks challenges.

“My word-“ he says as he holds up his and, to swear on invisible scripture “-of _ honor” _he finishes with gravitas.

Shelley hates that he's right. She knows they can’t stay like this forever. She _ wishes _ they could. Though the bubble’s been nice while it lasted, they’ll be broken apart either voluntarily or violently. And she can’t lose anyone else.

(_Also, that rock is really starting to hurt.) _

So she nods at the sheriff. He staggers up with a grunt and a wince and walks back towards the stranger. “Edgar?” she whispers, getting no reply. _ “Edgar” _ , she asks again as she gives him a gentle shake. With a startled sniffle he looks up, dazed. _ God _ , she doesn’t want to leave him. They both need a friend- now more than ever- and he’s so goddamn _ vulnerable _ right now. But she has to. “You need to go with them”

“What?” he shakes his head, “I-I don’t understand.”

“That man over there-“ she gestures at the man from the institute “- He’s gonna help you, okay? He’s gonna take you to a place where you’ll be safe, while the sheriff sorts all this out and proves that- that you’re not dangerous.”

“But I am.” Edgar whispers.

“Only. When. Provoked.” she replies gravely. “And anyone can be dangerous in the right situation. You just have… easier access to weapons.” she finishes with a teary smile, as her hand comes up to pull his upper lip over his fangs. Edgar doesn’t seem phased by her lack of boundaries. He also doesn’t seem especially assured by her words.

“Are you coming with me?” 

Shelley lets out a shaky breath, tears stinging in her eyes. She swallows a lump in her throat before responding. “I can’t”

“Why not?” 

“Because-“ she pauses, considering the best way to continue. “-I still have stuff to do here. I need to figure out what we’re doing next. Plus- I have school.” Fuck. _ School. _How on earth is she supposed to go to school? “But you won’t lose me.” she assures, shoving the thought away. “I’ll call, I’ll write letters- maybe I- maybe.. I can visit you?” she looks up questioningly to where the sheriff stands, waiting. He shrugs, as if to say ‘how the hell am I supposed to know?’

“Hey, we’ve gotta get going. Got a long drive ahead of us.” She faintly hears the man from the institute say. She doesn’t know who he's addressing, but Shelley nods anyway. 

“Edgar we can’t stay here forever” She murmurs to him. The moisture in his eyes spills over as he shakes his head emphatically. “Shh, I know.” She soothes, putting on her best Mom Voice. “I don’t want to go either, okay? But we have to.” She has to be the adult right now. For both of their sakes. 

She feels his breath stutter against her face as he tries to bring himself down from wherever he was. “Okay,” he croaks at last. “okay.”

She stands, slow and unsteady, her knees feeling like jelly and her feet feeling they’ve been in a bathtub with a hairdryer in it. Still carefully steering her vision away from the upper left hand side of her vision, him she reaches a hand out towards Edgar and pulls him up. She gives his grip an encouraging squeeze as she walks them toward the stranger. He eyes them warily.

The sheriff clears his throat, “Son, you’re gonna need to wear these.” He says, holding up the pair of handcuffs he'd been brandishing earlier. Edgar looks at Shelley eyebrows raised questioningly, as if she’s his keeper. She supposes she is, now.

She nods in reply, chest tight. She really thought he’d never have to feel trapped again. Hoped. “Do what they say, alright?" He nods in reply.

“Hands behind your back” Sheriff Reynolds says. Edgar complies, eyes closed and head held high. 

When clicked into place he lets out a shaky breath, and simply says “Lets go.”

“Can I come? Just so I can see him off?” She asks hopefully. 

Reynolds raises his eyebrows and turns to the institute man. “Can she?”

The stranger gives a resigned shrug, looking a bit dazed at the whole situation. “I… guess I don’t see why not.”

The Sheriff turns to the townsfolk and announces in his _ authority voice _ “Nobody. Moves. Garth here is taking the boy to Wheeling. I’m gonna go help escort them to the van. I will be back in 10 minutes _ tops _ . I _ expect _you all to be here when I get back, ya hear?” a murmur of agreement. “Good. In the meantime-“ He scans the crowd for a moment before coming to a decision “-Lorraine? You’re in charge.” 

As the four of them turn to leave, Shelley faintly hears the mayor splutter “_ excuse me?” _Sheriff Reynolds simply hollers a “You heard me!” without looking back.

And with that they trek through the forest to up the road. ‘Garth’ leading with his flashlight, followed by the sheriff, holding Edgar by the arm. 

Somehow- even with the flashlight, the forest seems much darker, colder, and louder than it did when it was just her and Edgar.

After about five minutes of uncomfortable silence and everyone except Edgar (he really does see well in the dark, huh?) nearly falling flat on their faces due to the thick roots and rocks, Shelley hears the telltale _ clink _ of a car being unlocked.

_ It’s literally a freakin’ pedo van, _ Shelley’s mind supplies once she spots it. It’s a mud splattered, white, windowless monstrosity. _ The only thing that’s missing is a decal that says “free ice cream!” _

She stands back with Edgar and the sheriff as _ Garth _opens and the van and begins fiddling around in the back cabin. She sees a little better now, due to the headlights. She can see his face again.

“I don’t want to go,” She just barely hears him whisper. She tightens her grip where her hand’s been resting at his elbow.

“I don’t want you to go either.” 

“Then why must I?” She sees the moisture in his eyes glisten in the headlights. Shadows of the leaves fall across his face, as he shakes his head, uncomprehending. It accentuates the contrast of his sharp, _ otherly _ features against his boyish face. Shelley’s breath catches as she’s struck by the thought _ how did I ever think he was ugly? _ It’s something that’s popped into her mind with more and more frequency these past couple of weeks. Only now it’s accompanied with a turn of her stomach at the fact that she still thinks it. That she still _ feels _it. Even now that she knows what they are.

She swallows the acid in her throat before replying. _ To buy me time, _ she could say. _ Because it's better than the alternatives where you're in jail or dead. _“So you won’t need to hide anymore.”, is what she finally settles on. As she speaks, his brow begins to furrow.

“I _ stopped _hiding. I stepped out of the shadows and look where it got me. And it’s nobody’s fault but my own.”

“Hey, that is _ not true-“ _

_“_Isn’t it?” He states in disbelief. “I _ hurt _ people, Shelley.” he says, voice thick. “People _ died _because of me”

“No, no no no _ no.” _ She insists, grabbing Edgar by shoulders. “You defended yourself and you defended your family. You never wanted anyone to get hurt and you absolutely didn’t want anyone to _ die. They- _ “ she jerks a thumb back towards where the rest of the town waits “want to believe that you’re some kind of beast, some kind of monster, because it’s easier for them to think that than grapple with that they’ve done to you. What they’re _ doing _to you.”

“But they’re not wrong” he says gravely “I can’t control myself- I-I wanted to think I was like them, that I was a person… but I’m _ not _ .” he lets out a shuddering breath, before seemingly calming himself and finishing his thought. “I’m an _ animal.” _

Despite herself, a small, hysterical giggle bubbles up to her lips “Uh, yeah?” she nods_ , _ “So am I, dummy. So’s he-“ she waves an arm at the sheriff and… frankly she’s kinda forgotten was still there (Reynolds looks like he wishes _ he _ could.) “-and so are they-,” she again gestures towards the mess they left behind, about a mile back. She waves a hand in his face with her biggest smile she can muster plastered to hers. “Hi, my name’s Rochelle Marie Parker and I’m a Homo sapien. And _ you-“ _ she points her finger into his bewildered face “Your name is Edgar, and you’re a Homo sapien um… -whatever the scientific name for bat is- _ hybrid. _ ” She lets the smile fade and looks at him sternly. “We’re _ all animals _ , Edgar! We all have instincts and urges. You’re just…” she groans in frustration, “you’re not as used to controlling them as other humans your age. Which seems par for the course, in this town.” she snorts. “It doesn’t make you any less of a person, or any less worthy of life. Of _ love.” _

Edgar stares at her silently, mouth slightly agape. He takes a breath and starts to shake his head, as if to reply. He’s interrupted before he can make a sound. “Uh, kids?” _ Oh. _Shelley forgot he was there again. “I’m real glad you’re having this talk and all, but it’s a long ride upta Wheeling.”

“He still needs to get strapped in.” _ Garth _mutters, still looking a little out of it. She can’t even begin to imagine how fucking crazy this looks to him. 

“Just one more minute”, she insists. Garth shuts his eyes tight throws his hands above his head, as if to say, _ fuck it all. _

Ignoring the mutters of _ fuck my life, _ and _ I don’t get paid enough for this _ Shelley takes a deep breath and looks at her… (Friend? Brother? Lover? BrotherLover? Ew.) Her _ whatever he is- _intently.

“This isn’t a goodbye okay?” she says, “You are _ not _ gonna lose me. I’ll keep in touch however I can, as much as I can.” She tenderly brushes the pad of her thumb against his cheek. Her arm soon drops along with her stomach, as she remembers that _ they can’t do that _ and _ why. _She swallows thickly at the slip, and clenches her hands into fists. After she's taken a second to bounce back, she continues, “This is not a goodbye” Shelley reiterates. “it’s a… talk to you later, ‘kay? And if you ever miss me, if you ever feel alone; just remember that I’m right-“ she relaxes her fists and raises a trembling hand to gently press her fingertips against his chest “-here.” 

“I’m right here,” she whispers hoarsely, losing her composure. She leaps onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around Edgar’s neck. His body jerks in surprise, and a there’s a _ clink _as he tries to hug her back, but he’s stopped by the handcuffs. He settles for burrowing his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. After what could have been either five seconds or five minutes, the moment’s broken by the pointed clearing of a throat.

Forcing herself to let go, Shelley takes a step back, and gives the two men waiting a shaky nod. While swallowing around the lump in her throat, she smiles reassuringly at her… _ boy. _

Sheriff Reynolds places a hand on Edgar’s shoulder guides him into the back. The man from The Institute nervously buckles him onto one of the benches, as he avoids looking at his new road trip buddy. When he's as settled in as he'll ever be and Sheriff Reynolds is no longer restraining him, Edgar turns his gaze back to her; where she’s been watching with glassy eyes. 

“Shelley, I-“ He takes a breath, considering before speaking slowly. “I’ll… talk to you later?” 

Letting out a broken laugh and a sniffle, Shelley wipes her eyes. “Yes. I’ll talk to you later.”

As the doors to the van slam shut, the spell is broken. It’s like an orchestra’s been playing in Shelley’s head for the past five months. And someone just shot the conductor.

She stands there in a daze, feeling her tears drip down her neck and onto her dress, where his are drying. She stands and she stares until well after the headlights have disappeared down the dirt road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i've written fanfiction for bat boy: the musical in the year of our lord 2019. i'm just as confused as you are. i don't know how often this will be updated or when. or how long it'll be for that matter. i've written about 20k words total, so far. if anyone is actually reading this, thanks for being someone who cares enough about bat boy to seek out fanfiction, hi. join my two person fandom.
> 
> shoutout to alex for being my one reader and occasional sounding board. you're the real MVP.
> 
> title comes from the london production’s replacement of “inside your heart” called “mine all mine”. i personally prefer inside your heart, but the line “all that we have is dead/but here’s a brand new thread/you’ll be my daily bread and wine” fucks me UP fam, edgar and shelley sticking together through loss is everything


	2. aftershocks

_ It’s gonna be a long night, _Sheriff Reynolds thinks as he escorts what might as well be a quarter of Hope Falls’ population to his office.

The department is spread thin enough as it is. His deputies are scattered; stationed across the countryside in all the places too small to justify having their own departments, but big enough to need _ something_. His men and women are busy, taking pride in being the pillar of a community they can call their home. Just like he does.

He was born here. Grew up here. Met his (now ex) wife here. Had kids of his own here. Taking care of the whole county, plus being the only form of law enforcement in Hope Falls is enough to drive any man mad from sheer stupidity. But usually- it’s worth the stress. He loves it here. He loves the mountains, the morning air, hell- the _people._ Troublesome as they may be. He loves the memories that sing from every nook and cranny of the damn place. He and his little brother playing catch by the train tracks. His and Marilyn’s wedding at the one non-denominational church in town. The same place where his kids were baptized. Steve’s high school graduation at the community center. The small, rickety, old cabin where his folks spent their later years, and eventually met the lord.

Tonight, he’s made some new memories he’s thinking may color how he sees his home for some time.

He leaves Thing 1 through Thing 12 in the waiting room, with barely enough space and not nearly enough chairs for the lot of ‘em. He apologizes, makes them vow to stay put, and excuses himself. He has some calls to make.

He's in a tight spot. It’s near impossible to carry out a murder investigation and protect a crime scene when the only assistance he can get on short notice is the neighborhood watch. Especially when the neighborhood watch just formed an angry mob and set out to kill a teenager. Christ, those folks were acting like they were in a… bad, low budget Frankenstein remake, tonight. But he needs to work with what he's got, until his backup arrives.

He left Maggie to watch the crime scene. While she he was initially grateful at finally being given some semblance of responsibility, when she realized the responsibility given to her was to make sure the bloodied bodies of her neighbors weren’t scavenged by critters before the coroner showed up, she was… let’s say less enthused. But the job needed to be done; even if the crime scene is going to be considered contaminated no matter what. Hopefully, the many witnesses will make sure he can close _that _particular case, no problem. No, he doesn't trust Maggie. But no way in hell was he leaving the two of 'em alone in the woods. It also kept that woman far away rest of the gang, for now. He’d been even more hesitant to put her in charge of anything than the rest of the townsfolk, to be quite honest- she’s been acting like a damn fool these past few weeks. Not that trying to deal with the boy has been his finest hour- far from it. But she knew the ranchers were desperate for some sort of explanation and lit a fire under their asses to save her own. She provoked them. She knew better. It's best to separate the hive for now, let them clear their heads.

Daisy’s been asked to escort Mrs. Taylor home, as well as bring her to his office in the afternoon so they can give their statements. He’s not gonna put that poor woman through any more heartache tonight. She lost all three of her children in the span of just a few hours. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through. 

(It has not escaped the sheriff that she; among losing her children, had committed arson, reckless endangerment, attempted murder, and manslaughter tonight. But that’s a concern for later.)

He left the poor Parker girl is in his tiny apartment above the office. It's far from ideal _or_ professional, but he couldn’t leave her alone in that empty house. Not after the night she’s had. Preferably, she'd be with family right now. But she said any and all family was hours away, and there were no friends she could drop in on in the middle of the night. He _ definitely _ couldn’t leave her in the lobby with the rest of the witnesses- he wouldn’t dare subject her to that. His goal right now is to keep the peace, keep his people happy, and start this investigation as best as he can with what he's got. Any more fighting between the townsfolk right now will be over his dead body.

He takes off his hat and tosses it on his rack. Running a hand through what little hair he has left, he plops into his rolling desk chair and skims his rolodex for what he needs. _ Medical examiner. _ He pulls out the laminated card. _ State Police. Deputy Maxwell. Jay Powell (Social Services). _He lays them out on the desk he stained cherry many years prior, and picks up the phone. He clears his throat and dials the first number he sees.

“Evening, there. This is Sheriff Wayne Reynolds callin’. I’ve got an issue down in here Hope Falls, and I’m gonna need whatever help you can spare, as soon as possible.”

Time to get to work.

* * *

Edgar’s gone, and he took every ounce of Shelley’s strength with him. 

It’s a problem

Every muscle in her body feels shaky and unsteady. Her heart’s aflutter in all the wrong ways. She paces on numb feet. They ache and vibrate with pins and needles. Possibly _actual _pins and needles, considering she’s been barefoot in the woods all night. Shelley hears that dreadful, heavy _thud_ again and again; it beats in her skull ad nauseum, pounding in tandem with her chest. She feels wrong wherever she stands. She doesn’t know if it’s the world that’s wrong, or her.

Sheriff Reynolds had warmly welcomed her into his home. He showed her to what appeared to be the abandoned room of a teenage girl. He mentioned a name and a college but the ringing in her ears drowned him out. She was left a pair of his daughters’ old pajamas, as well as a spare toothbrush. Before he left her, he put out some -slightly sketchy- foil-wrapped spaghetti leftovers on the counter, and turned the crappy twelve-inch TV to a marathon of _ The Nanny. _

She’s not sure how long ago this was; how long she’s been alone here. Birds sing to each other outside the the frosty windows. It’s been a while, then.

Shelley leans against the peeling wallpaper and tenderly holds the handkerchief and button up shirt he left behind. She thinks about where Edgar is. On his way to The Institute. 

The place spoken of with hushed voices. _"I__ hear he’s… at The Institute,'' _the old women in town would gossip, to a chorus of scandalized gasps. _"__Ugh, Mr. Wexler’s class is such a freaking nightmare. Just kill me now.” _Krissy Simpson would groan in free period._“Hey, don’t talk like that, Kris. They’ll send you to The Institute, like Mrs. Mitchell from fourth grade._” Jenny would joke in reply, as their friends laughed. Shelley used to laugh at those jokes too. That is, until the day she watched Abigail Walker's face turn to stone at the jibe, as she walked past their table. She knew what had happened to Abbie’s mom. If Shelley had been in her shoes, she would have wished her mom had just gone to the institute, instead of putting her head in an oven. God, Shelley fucking _wishes_ her dad had just gone to _The Institute_.

Now, the only person left in her family she gives two shits about is going there. To the nut house. The town laughing stock and horror story. The place that her friends would never be caught _dead _ at. 

Okay, maybe thinking about Edgar isn’t helping.

Shelley has never been so aware of how _ loud _ her body is until now. With the blood rushing in her ears, she imagines she’s tuned into her system, like she’s usually tuned in to 103.7 She fancies she’s hearing every organ work together in tandem, and considers what would happen if one of them just. Stopped. Thinks about how _ easy _ it would be. She puts her fingers in her ears and listens to the _ whoosh _it creates. Rubs her palms into her eyes and watches the sparks and bruises dance across her vision. The world around her is broken and fuzzy. Jagged edges unfocused.

Shelley just wants to wake up. She sinks her chipped black nails into the skin of her forearm.

She doesn’t get what she wants.

And so, Shelley takes off her new dress, now crusted with snot, blood and… probably other fluids; and she trades it for the borrowed PJ’s. She steals the heavy comforter that draped the bed in her borrowed room provided by the sheriff and burritos herself in it on the couch. She lets a chorus of laughs and the sound of Fran Drescher’s oddly soothing and nasally voice fill her ears and numb her brain. She foregoes the leftovers- her own tongue seems foreign and _ heavy _ in her mouth. Swallowing her own spit feels like a chore. She’s not pushing it. The sense of unreality she initially resented cocoons her. She lets the fuzz take over the rush of blood through her veins. The static in her fingers and tongue and toes tickles up her legs and arms until her loud, pounding heartbeat becomes sluggish and heavy. All of her is heavy; and she's finally quiet. Her eyelids strain to keep open as she gazes unfocused at the pastels of the Sheffield home through pixels. Through the musty, floral cushions of Sheriff Reynolds’ couch, her ears faintly catch the muffled upbeat horns starting yet again, as a woman’s voice croons _ she was working at a bridal shop in Flushing, Que- _

As she drifts, she can hear her mom chastise her. _S__helley darling, don’t sleep in your makeup. It’s terrible for your skin! You want [insert boy here] to like you back, don’t you? Gotta keep your pretty face nice and clear. Don't we, dear._

* * *

Edgar has been in a motor vehicle a total of three times. Once to get to the revival, once when Shelley snuck him out in Dr. Parker’s car so they could play in the old school playground after midnight, and once with the Taylor family, to Sheriff Reynolds’ office. 

His fourth ride in a motor vehicle isn’t especially kind to him.

He was already feeling a bit off, (he thinks that poor cow may have been unwell before it's… _ unfortunate _ passing.) That combined with the dark, unsteady van cabin on these winding dirt roads is making his stomach feel quite treacherous.

Watching his surrogate father kill and attempt to sacrifice himself to Edgar, as well as murder his surrogate _and_ (as it turns out) biological mother as has not helped with his stomachache either. His senses are hyper focused on the strain of the cuffs and the chafing of his stiff, bloodied shirt against his collarbone. Red fades as it dries to a ruddy brown.

He keeps himself afloat by thinking of Shelley. 

His mind twitches back and forth between _ she’s better off without me, she’d be better off if she’d just let me die _ and the baser, instinctual _ let me out let me out protect her protect her I need t-. _He thinks that maybe, that this is the best of both worlds. 

This way, she’s safe from him, as is the rest of Hope Falls. She’ll also be free from any more guilt and grief than what she’s likely already experiencing- _ help her protect protect protect- _ not that she has any reason to feel guilty. Lord knows she’s the only innocent party in this. However, according to a BBC documentary about the circle of life and the stages of grief that he watched, (oh yes, what a fun part of his education that was) guilt is a very common part of the grieving process. Edgar knows how dreadful it feels to have blood on your hands. Physical _ and _ metaphorical.

Because of the blood on his hands, today has gone from being the best, to the worst, to the best, to the worst (again) in his short, conscious life.

He never used to have bad days. He wishes he missed it.

Edgar has greedily and unashamedly adored playing house- playing _ human _ the past few months. It disgusts him, how well he played himself. His pathetic attempts to rationalize everything that is _ wrong _ with him. He wants to blame Mrs. Parker- he _ has- _but really, Edgar should have known better. 

One thing Shelley said before they parted, weighs in his mind as he wallows. _ We are all animals, Edgar, _ she had said. That can’t be true, can it? Scientifically, of course- but that’s not what matters. What matters is the consciousness. Sentience. The ability to make choices, to contribute to a society, to innovate. _ To feel. _

He thought he had that last one down, but now he’s not so sure. He feels. Oh _yes_, he feels. 

It’s that he doesn’t feel the way he should. 

He sees now, everything is too strong, too _ loud. Help. Protect. Save. Fight. Run. Eat. Survive. _ If every _ real, full, _human felt things the way he did, there would be no functioning society. No government. No inventors, or medicine. Just anarchy. 

Right?

Eventually, the roads smooths out beneath him. Dirt and rock, to supple pavement. When the exhaustion finally settles in and swallows him whole, he lets his head droop and rests his chin against his chest. He doesn’t know if he falls asleep or not, he has no way to keep track of passing time. Edgar is startled out of his trance when he realizes the low rumble that's been rocking his consciousness away, is absent. Everything seems so quiet now. He didn’t notice how _ loud _ it was before. They’re here, wherever _ here _is. He quite frankly has no idea what this supposed destination is. Just that it’s supposedly safe, and far away from his so-called home.

Not that he deserves safety.

Light suddenly floods Edgar’s vision as the doors to the van open; causing him to groan and shield his eyes from the intrusion. He hears the man from earlier- the driver- mutter something he doesn’t quite understand. _"__Christ almighty, how’d I get saddled with the real life son of dracula.” _

Once his eyes adjust to the artificial light, the man speaks again. This time it’s directed at Edgar.

“Look, I just want this to be over. Tell me, do I need to put you out or can I trust you to behave while we get you in?” He’s tense. His hand shakes where it grips the heavy metal flashlight. He’s scared. Scared of him. Good.

They're on the same, then. They're both afraid of Edgar, and they both want this night to be over. 

“Put me out, please.”

The man appears taken aback by his reply, but nonetheless hops into the back, rocking the van and triggering Edgars nausea. He approaches the metal wall, covered with peeling safety posters. With a plasticky _click, _he opens a white, briefcase-shaped box attached to the aluminium. As the man fills the syringe, Edgar takes a deep breath, and readies himself for rest. “Thank you... for all you’ve done tonight” he croaks.

He watches as the man freezes, almost dropping the glass bottle in his left hand. The man puts it in his pocket and stares at Edgar, bewildered. “Uh… you’re welcome?” he says. He approaches the bench Edgar sits on with caution, hand outstretched, holding out the needle.

Edgar closes his eyes, holds out his arm, and welcomes oblivion.

* * *

The statements don’t help much.

He’s got most of the picture already, from his own two eyes as well as the walkie talkies. Enough to see the _ embellishments _ and misconceptions reflected in the words of his neighbors. The majority of the timeline in his report will likely be from his own account of the night. 

It’s well and truly morning now, a little after five-thirty A.M., and the sheriff has been up since seven the day prior. Light is just starting to paint the sky navy. The rest of the town had finally headed home for the evening not long ago. They’re surely angry at him for not killing the poor boy, but too traumatized by watching their neighbors bleed out in front of their very eyes to do anything about it. For now, anyway.

The coroner has taken Dr. and Mrs. Parker away and the State Police will be here in just a few hours. He called in a favor with his buddy at social services, who despite the day and hour- is going to have a social worker here as soon as possible. That's _something_. Progress. This thing’s gotta be expedited, while still being as thorough as it can possibly be. So everyone can move on.

And he can start looking for a new job.

For now though, he needs some rest before he can welcome his visitors to town.

He heads up the creaky stairs to his little apartment, quiet and careful. He’s sure the girl had trouble getting to sleep, if she’s slept at all. No need to bother her. 

She’s on the couch, with the TV still on. Thankfully, it seems she was able to rest her poor head enough to sleep. He creeps around her as quiet as he can to click off the television, and close the blinds. It’s going to be sunny out today. 

After cleaning off the plate she never ate off of, he tucks her in and leaves her a glass of water with a note, in case she wakes before he does. 

As soon as he takes off his shoes and suspenders, Sheriff Reynolds crawls onto the creaky springs of his twin bed, and finally, _finally_, gets some shut eye.

* * *

When he gets back home in the early hours of Monday morning, Bud doesn’t know what to think. He sure as hell can’t sleep, so he grabs himself a room temperature Natty Ice from the counter and slumps in his old recliner.

He's reeling. He can’t believe Parker could do that. Did that. That’s not the man he knows. _Knew_. Christ, had the boy driven him mad? Like the thing’s driven all of them mad, these past few weeks?

The kid had him fooled for a minute. He really did. And maybe, he was genuine. Maybe he really wanted to help out around town. Even if that was all true, they all should have known better. That it couldn’t be that easy.

Part of him does pity the son of a bitch. He didn’t ask to be born. Didn’t ask to be an abomination. But he’s dangerous. He said it himself. If the lord carried away Mrs. Taylor's kids, not to mention his girls- that thing shouldn’t be allowed to stay. 

And Bud would have been more than happy to put the poor kid out of his misery, a few hours ago. Now, He’s not so sure. Now that he knows what real bloodshed looks like. He’s seen horror and loss and _ real _murder. He unsuccessfully pushes the images of the night out of his head, as he picks at the pale foam peeking through the tears in the leather of his chair.

Bud got real close to becoming a murderer himself, tonight. How did things go downhill so damn fast? Why did he let things get this bad? He's no mad man.

Those kids.

God, poor Rick. He was always a little troublemaker. He and his pals vandalizing every inch of the town he could since Mrs. Taylor had taken him in at age twelve. Over the years, he watched the boy go from being a bratty little shit, to a charming little jerk. He was never the most well behaved boy, but he wasn't bad people. He deserved a damn sight better than this. As did his brother and sister. As did the Parkers. As did Gertie and Bessy and Clara, and the rest of the gals.

Hell, as did _ Bud. _

Yeah, he deserved better. He went to college. He was gonna be an _ engineer. _And where did he end up? In the mines. And when that went south? He bought the field. Now his livelihood is falling apart again, and he can't afford to start again. Literally. He doesn’t have the damn money to start over. To finally put his degree to use. If only he could get money out of this whole shit show- he’s _earned_ it. If only.

If only_. _

The idea hits him like a brick wall. _It’s so_ _obvious,_ he thinks with disbelief. _W__hy didn’t I think of this_ _sooner?_ He crushes the now empty beer can and tosses it on the floor as he leaps out of his recliner and scrambles to one of the many piles of magazines and newspapers he keeps around the house. He digs around stacks until he finds what he’s looking for.

_ WEREWOLF BATTLES COPS IN ALABAMA! _

He flips it over to the advert riddled back cover. He never paid much attention to it; when he did pick up one of these babies. But he knows what he wants is somewhere on this thing. He scans until he finds it.

_ Heard something strange? Seen something freaky?! Call us! _

_ 555-8492-0757 _

Damn right he’s seen something freaky. And damn right he’s making a pretty penny.

They must have a 24 hour hotline, since he gets a fella on the line as soon as he dials.

_“WWN, this is David. How can I help you?” _a bored sounding voice drawls.

“I’ve got a story for ya. And it’s something _ big._” He says, voice brimming with excitement.

A tired sigh comes over the line. Papers rustle. _ “Alright, tell me more,” _

Bud tells his story.

Well. More or less.

_ Okay,_ fine. He tells _ a _ story.

And a damn good one, at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally posting this! so this is almost a part 2 to the first chapter. chapter 3 is when actual plot starts, and it’s about as long as both of these combined! which starts a trend, chapters are much longer after these two. still not sure how long this is gonna be. i’ve got 6 chapters and 30k+ words. i haves i d e a s, it’s just a matter of implementing them. thanks again to anyone who read this, i’m just glad there are at least a few people who still love this show. let me know what you think if you have the chance!


	3. pages

** _BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_ **

She snorts as she jolts out of sleep. That wasn’t her alarm.

Oh good _ grief. _

It’s not quite light outside, as far as Sydney can see. She holds the pager inches away from her face and squints, not feeling like putting on her glasses just yet. She groans. It’s work. Of course it’s work.

_ Great. _

When she left the hospital and started working for the institute, she thought being woken up like this would stop. It has- for the most part. She’s really not that annoyed- she knew what she was getting into when she applied to med school. It’s just a bit absurd that she’s being called three hours before she’s supposed to come in anyway. 

She hears a questioning murmur next to her. She must have woken Jamie up. 

Sydney gives his forearm a squeeze and kisses him quickly on the cheek. “I gotta go,” He hums in response. She smiles at his response, or lack thereof. _ He’s not gonna remember this. _She puts on her glasses and slips off of the covers, getting out of bed with a stretch. She should know what she’s getting into.

She winces as she flicks on the overhead light in the kitchen and turns on a pot of coffee. She rubs the spots from her vision before picking up the phone. She lets out a yawn as she dials the phone. She shouldn’t have stayed up watching that marathon of _ The Nanny. _What can she say? It’s the best kind of mindless entertainment.

“Dr. Carter?” Her boss answers on the first ring, as if he’s been waiting at the phone.

“What’s the emergency?” Sydney rasps, as she clears the sleep from her throat. 

Dr. Glenn sighs into the receiver in response “It’s… hard to explain. I don’t fully understand what’s going on either- but... I think we’re gonna need all the help we can get right now. I’ve called in Jarreau and Davidson, too. They should be in soon. I… I think I need to meet with the three of you face to face. Before we can really dive in, here.”

“Jesus, Frank, what the hell is going on? Did a patient die or something?” She croaks incredulously. She’s never had to deal with this type of secrecy and urgency with him before.

“No, no. Nothing like that. But it’s uh. _ Something, _whatever it is. Please- I’ll explain what I know and what I don't when you’re all here.”

Sydney massages her brow as she listens. She’s getting a headache already. “I’ll be right in. Turn some coffee on. We’ll need it.”

She quickly gets dressed and brushes her teeth and hair. She scribbles out an illegible note for Jamie so he doesn’t worry. He probably won’t be able to read the exact words, considering her so-called _ Doctors Handwriting, _but- he got plenty of notes like this back when she worked in the ER. He’ll get the gist. 

With her coat and her coffee, Dr. Carter heads to the institute.

The drive down the remote road to work is a bit… eerie at this time of the day. It's still kind of dark; the shift transition from night staff to morning staff hasn't begun yet. When she reaches the wide, mostly empty lot, the only cars she recognizes are those of her colleagues she was told would be here. 

So she’s late. Ugh. She uses her employee ID card to unlock the door and waves politely to the coworkers she’s never met before. 

They probably know more about whatever’s going on than she does.

Sydney shrugs off her trench coat as she reaches the preferred meeting room. As soon as the door opens she hears a familiar warm voice, sounding much more energetic than it sounded fifteen minutes ago). “Dr. Carter! You made it!”

She closes the door behind her a bit louder than necessary and sighs “I know, I know. I’m _ late. _I think I have the right to be.” She finishes, hanging up her jacket on the coat rack. 

She turns to her silent colleagues and puts her hands on her hips “So? What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Dr. Davidson replies, “wouldn’t say a peep until we were all here”

“Sooooo… you’ve been sitting in silence for how long?” 

“Approximately ten minutes.” Dr. Jarreau responds, fiddling with her scarf. 

“So now that we’re all here, let’s get started, shall we?” Frank interjects, gleefully. Both he and Sydney take their seats at the table. After a moment of uncomfortable silence Sydney takes it as her cue to make the first move.

“So what’s going on, Doc?” Frank lets out a pained sigh

“It’s a long story”

“So we’ve heard.” Davidson drawls.

“Okay,” Her boss begins looking down, tapping his fingers on the table nervously. “So supposedly we have an animal-human hybrid staying with us for an undetermined period of time.” He looks up to be greeted with three blank stares.

It’s Georgia who speaks first “You mean… we have a new client who is under the delusion that they’re part animal? Because that’s uncommon, but not exactly worthy of-“

“-No. No, no, no, no. Listen,” He takes a deep breath. “I received a call from the weekend receptionist yesterday morning. She said there was a call from a veterinarian she wanted my opinion on. Apparently he said that there was a young man who’s been in his care that needed a level of supervision and care that he couldn’t provide.”

“Why would a vet be taking care of a human?” Davidson asks.

“Considering… what I said a moment ago, that may explain why.” 

Sydney shakes her head in disbelief “You know this is bullshit, don’t you?

“I am aware of how this sounds, Dr. Carter. I am simply presenting the situation as it’s been relayed to me. Please just listen and let me get through all this.” With a belabored sigh, she waves him on. “Anyway, they’re from a real small town. Way out in the mountains. Maybe the case was he was just the closest thing they had to a professional on short notice.” He shrugs, “Aileen called me because she didn’t know _what _to make of it. Apparently, the guy said that the individual had attacked a girl a few months ago. And that the girl had died of some mysterious illness caused by the wound he gave her the night prior. I didn’t think much of it, figured he was a wacko or a prankster but still told her to plan on sending a van down once we got some higher priority cases taken care of. But _then, _a few hours later I get a call from some woman. Says Aileen sent her may way. She claimed she was calling on behalf of the sheriff. Apparently the vet that had called earlier was a friend of theirs, and things with this young man were more dire than they had originally thought. So, I told her I’d get them help as soon as I could. But all the vans were out being used, already. It ended up still being quite a while before we got one back and I could send someone out.”

“-Frank, are you sure this is necessary information? I’m sorry you kept getting interrupted on your day off, but this doesn’t seem particularly relevant.” Sydney asks.

He sends her a glare. She knows he doesn’t mean anything by it. Thankfully she can trust him to not take himself- or her- too seriously. “I’m getting there. I’m just trying to go through things step by step, alright?”

She puts her hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. _ Continue.” _

Frank sighs, “Okay, where was I?”

“Vans.” Georgia supplies.

Frank snaps his fingers. “Yes! The vans, thank you Dr. Jarreau. So that evening Aileen gives me a heads up and says someone’s been sent down south, that he even took one of the animal catching nets from the groundskeeper’s shed.” That takes her aback for _ obvious reasons. _ Thankfully, she’s not alone. _ “-Horrifying, _ I know. I’ll need to have a chat with him and his supervisor about that. Anyway, I don’t hear anything for a while, so I assume everything is fine. That he’s been picked up okay and he’s on his way. But _ then _ as I was getting ready to hit the hay last night, I get _ yet another call. _This time, it’s from the employee sent to pick up the patient. He says that folks in town directed him to the woods, and once he arrived, there were two bodies on the ground and a dozen people standing around.”

She’s starting to get why he’s going through the theatrics.

“Oh my god, is he alright?” Georgia asks.

“Our guy? A little shaken up. I told him to head home early and take today off. He did talk a bit with the sheriff before coming back. The kid actually freaked him out more than the bodies. Apparently, the sheriff told him that the kid is half-human, _ half-bat. _Glazed over some outlandish tale about the whole thing. I thought it was a misunderstanding, miscommunication of some type.” he adds. “Then I saw him myself this morning. It’s… very odd. I’ve never seen anything like it. Hence the emergency calls.”

Sydney shakes her head again, laughing, “Frank… you know this can’t be real, right? Even if it _ was _ a sheriff who said it, that’s. Not. Possible. Human/Bat hybrids don’t exist. _ Can’t _ exist. _ He _should probably be a patient here.” She’s had patients from the mountain region of the state before. She’s not one to judge but… god- some of the strangest folks she’s had in her care. “Not to generalize, but those mountain folks are known for being kinda… parano-.”

“Again, Sydney, I _know_.” Frank interjects, firmly. “But this young man _is_ _strange._ I can say that confidently after taking one glance at him. According to the _sheriff_, this kid has had two people die just from exposure to his saliva-“

“Saliva?” Bryan inquires.

“Yes. He… bit them.”

She feels the few surviving brain cells from this conversation dim and die as she shoves her face in her hands. “We’re working with a teenage vampire.” she says, the sound muffled.

Ignoring her, Frank continues, “Now, I don’t know anything about this supposed poison in his saliva. It was the veterinarian fella’s hypothesis. I don’t how this guy supposedly knows. I got the number of the veterinarian from Aileen to ask for more details and I got no reply. I just left a message for the sheriff about an hour ago and hopefully he’ll get back to me sometime later today.”

Dr. Glenn pauses and takes a breath before continuing, “So for now, I have no idea how valid this claim is. I also have no idea what kind of security we’re going to need with him if he _ is _ in fact poisonous. It’s possible he’s entirely harmless; that the whole thing _ has _ been a misunderstanding. It’s possible he's quite _ dangerous. _There's no way to know for sure until we run our own tests. In the meantime, we obviously should be very careful around him, for the safety of all of us.”

“We’ve had serial killers here. I think we can handle a kid who thinks he’s part bat.” Georgia says.

“I hope you’re right. But keep in mind, if this boy is somehow_ \- somehow. _What we are told he is, that means-“

“-That we have the first human hybrid ever discovered in_ our care.” _Davidson finishes, skepticism and curiosity evident in his voice.

Frank nods, “Which means that we must keep this on a need to know basis, okay? We need to keep this quiet amongst our colleagues as well.”

It’s that which finally makes Sydney crack. She lifts her head from her hand to voice her frustration. “Oh my god- there’s no way in hell this kid is _ half-bat, _ Frank. Are you _ kidding _me?” she says, incredulously.

She gets a shrug in return. “This whole thing is crazy, Dr. Carter, what can I say? I’ve never heard of anything like him, let alone seen it with my own two eyes. I’m just asking for everyone to hold off on assumptions before we’ve run tests, and gotten to know a bit about the young man!”

Bryan snaps his fingers. “Wait. What about the bodies?” he recalls.

“When Garth- the driver- spoke with Sheriff Reynolds apparently said that he’d had a murder-suicide, a possible manslaughter, and two suspicious deaths pop up in this one town in the span of a day.” 

"Jesus_ Christ,” _Jarreau breathes.

_ "Apparently, _it was the murder suicide Garth saw the aftermath of.”

Her boss stands up, and grabs a folder out of his desk. “So with that in mind, Mr. Reynolds is likely going to be rather busy. Garth did manage to get some notes from him last night. At the moment, the patient is asleep in a private, guarded room.” He returns to his seat and opens the folder in front of him. “Here’s what I got.” He clears his throat.

“Adolescent Male. My guess would be about seventeen years of age. Potentially malnourished- it’s… odd, he looks emaciated, but carries a fair amount of muscle. But that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. He has very sharp, fang like teeth with an extreme overbite. Large and pointed ears. Claw-like fingers and toes. Very pale. No legal guardians and no known family. No birth certificate, no SSN. No known government records or forms of identification whatsoever. All I know is that he goes by Edgar. No middle or last name.

Sydney just shakes her head, as she’s been doing for 85% of the meeting. _ What a fucking mess. _

“It sounds to me, Frank like we’re holding a minor with no guardians against his will because law enforcement doesn't want him in _ jail, _for some reason.” Dr. Jarreau says, with quiet outrage.

Frank looks up from his notes to address her directly, “Oh, I know exactly how it sounds. But we can’t just leave him be, Georgia. Right now, yes- there’s no one we can call for him, no permission to get. I think we need to keep him here for at least a little bit, talk to him, make some fast assessments to see if he’s a harm to himself or others.

“We need to be very careful. Yes, considering his age, the fact that he has no guardians, and is also under investigation for _ murder. _ But we need to keep in mind this is a very unique circumstance. And if the boy is- _ somehow _ what we’re told he is- Dr. Carter, _ please-“ _ he stops her before she can open her mouth to remind them about the _ laws of nature. _ “If the boy is indeed… _ that,_ then… I don’t even know. Once we speak with him, I’ll call our law department. Maybe contact a few lawyers who may be willing to represent him. To ease my own guilt at the very least.”

Georgia’s obviously doesn’t seem quite satisfied with that answer, but doesn’t object any more.

Taking that as a sign to continue, Frank runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath “This is what the sheriff said in regards to the boy’s background. _ Edgar _ was found in a cave about five months ago- feral. He bit one of the kids that found him and she ended up in the hospital with some odd symptoms- but seemed to be mostly recovered until her unexpected passing yesterday. The boy was being fostered by a local family and has become ‘civilized-‘“ he quotes with his fingers, “-for the most part. The sheriff also said that before Garth had arrived, the boy was trying to convince to sheriff and others present to _ murder _ him. So we will definitely be starting him out on suicide watch. Also, uh…” He sighs, considering. “The sheriff said it was very important that we know that he does not and _ will _not eat the food we give him. He survives off of blood alone.”

Sydney can’t help herself. She laughs. And keeps laughing. “Oh- my god” she gasps “I was right. There’s a fucking vampire here, oh my god.” she manages to choke before smothering her face in her hands again to muffle herself.

“So,” Bryan starts, “shared delusion maybe? The people around this kid think he’s a vampire- bat-person, whatever. Start feeding him blood, convince him he needs blood to live?”

“If he’s only been eating blood, he’d be _ dead._ That can’t be true.” Georgia speculates.

Frank closes the folder and places his hands on top of it. “I have no idea. Physically, he is an anomaly. There’s no denying that. As for the rest of it, we’ll have to wait and see. Now,” He begins, “I called you specifically because I want you three to be in charge of his treatment, Dr. Jarreau as his psychotherapist, Dr. Davidson; as his neuropsych, and Dr. Carter-“ He looks at her as she still shakes with silent laughter “-you… will be his physician.”

Dr. Jarreau is the first to speak. “You said he’s asleep?” 

“Yes. He was given a sedative, so he shouldn’t wake for at least a few hours.” He replies.

Sydney takes a deep breath and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Can we see him?” Sydney asks, despite herself. She can’t help it, he’s made her curious.

“Why, Dr. Carter” Frank smiles, “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

“I… don’t know what I expected.”

He’s laying in his new bed, deathly still and pale. He’s been changed into the standard white t-shirt and white (drawstring free) sweatpants. His face is sweet and boyish. Her lizard brain pipes up _ he looks like a sweet kid. _

_ Christ. _ She’s barely twelve weeks along and these pregnancy hormones are already going to be the death of her. He can’t be much more than fifteen years younger than _ her. _

The outline of his body under the covers looks skinny and bony- however his (surprisingly muscular?) arms hang out from under the stiff blanket. Huh. She sees why they’re calling him _ Bat Boy _ rather than _ Vampire Kid, _now. From a distance you could almost believe he was just a normal teenager. Almost.

He’s certainly... strange. Everything her boss described appears accurate. The ears, at least, she can’t see the rest too well.

There are other weird qualities she can’t quite place. Just an unnerving sense of _ not-normal-other-wrong _. Or maybe that’s just in her head.

It appears her colleagues are on the same page as her, as they squint at the small bed. Probably searching for any sign of makeup or prosthetics. They find none. Her boss looks smug.

“Believe me now?” He says, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Not much of a choice” Georgia mutters as she kneels in front of his sleeping face. 

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Doctor.” Frank grins. “Look in his mouth.”

The three of them turn to stare at him, bewildered. “… What.” Georgia breathes.

“Just try it.” he shrugs in reply.

She searches his face, suspicious. To everyone’s surprise, their colleague sighs in defeat, and shuffles closer to the boy. They watch as she cautiously brings one of her long fingers to the boys lips, and peers in. She gasps as she falls back, hand hand over her heart. “What the _ hell?” _

Unable to help herself at seeing her most level-headed coworker literally fall flat on her ass in shock, Sydney leaps forward, and inelegantly shoves her hands into the boy’s mouth.

“Oh, _ wow.” _she breathes.

Every single small tooth is sharp, twisted and pointed. It reminds her a bit of a teething puppy. Except creepier. _ How does he even eat with these, _ she thinks. Then she remembers what Frank said, about the… blood thing. _ Ew. _

“Wait” Sydney says, as a thought comes to her, “Do… those-“ she gestures to the boys mouth with a grimace “-count as weapons?”

“Teeth aren’t weapons.” Davidson says, rolling his eyes.

“But those aren’t _ normal _teeth. And if he attacks people by biting them…” Georgia trails off.

“-And if those people have died… I’d say it’s certainly a valid concern. For our safety as well as his, considering he’s a suicide risk.” Frank adds

“So, what should we do?” Georgia asks 

“Pull them?” Sydney suggests. She gets three appalled stares in return “What?!”

“You can’t just _pull_ _out_ a patients teeth for no health related reason without _consent!” _Dr. Jarreau says with outrage. 

“Georgia is right. We have some muzzles from when this institution was a bit more… archaic. He’s likely going to need a _ lot _of supervision, too. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do for now.

“Once he’s awake and we talk to him a bit, we can decide what the best long term. Maybe we can get him, I don’t know… some type of semi permanent mouth guard?” Frank wonders.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to get an impression of his mouth made, ask a dentist to fix something up for us.” Sydney says.

_ "Can _he talk?" Georgia asks with a furrowed brow. “He supposedly was feral and living underground just a few months ago.”

“The sheriff did say he was ‘civilized’. I assume he has _ some _basic communication skills, or can at least understand some English.” Their boss replies, considering.

“Maybe he speaks a language that isn’t English. Maybe... he speaks a bat language, like Jodie Foster in that weird wolf movie?” Sydney receives confused stares, again. “She was like, raised by wolves and had this weird gibberish language? No? No one else saw that movie?” Three heads shake slowly. _ Is she the only one here with any culture? _

“Anyway,” Frank says after a breath, “I trust the three of you to take care of this. And him.” he adds, “I’ll make sure he gets the muzzle, and you will all be alerted when he wakes up. In the meantime, I’d like you to discuss possible forms of treatment, plan what samples you’d like to take, what tests you want to run, etcetera. Thank you again for coming in early.” He finished with a wave as he walks out the door.

The three doctors look at eachother.

It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

Shelley is awake. Shelley does not want to be awake. So Shelley is currently attempting to convince her brain and body that she is not, in fact awake.

Shelley’s strategy is not very effective.

Her eyes are itchy and near glued shut with mascara, she feels drool crusted on her cheeks. Her mouth is so dry. She’s too_ goddamn _hot. Sweat drips from the backs of her kneecaps. If only she could bring herself to move.

There’s some clinks and clanks coming from… somewhere. Heavy footsteps. Daddy? 

_ No. _

Her empty stomach turns. A drawer opens. _ Clink. _

Moments later, she’s shoved out of her attempt at meditation by a shake of her shoulder, faint through thick layers of fabric.

“Mornin’. Or afternoon, I suppose.” A gruff voice says. With much effort, Shelley creaks one eye open, and groans. “Aw, I know, kid. I know” the voice soothes. “I wouldn’t wanna get up either if I were you. _ But- _ it’s a beautiful day, you’ve got some waffles and bacon with your name on it. Plus, we’ve got an appointment with a nice lady from social services in a couple hours, she’s gonna help us get some stuff sorted out.” Okay, thinking about _ stuff _ that _ needs sorting _is not helpful.

After a moment with no response, the sheriff sighs. “I don’t wanna push you, kiddo. You need time, and you need to rest but- you can’t stay in bed forever, Shel.”

_ Try me, douche. _

Another sigh. “Alright. Have it your way.” There’s another clink; silverware clattering again a plate as it’s placed on the coffee table in front of her. “I’m gonna go downstairs to the office, you know where to find me,'' is all he says as the door creaks shut.

Now that she’s alone, Shelley blearily attempts to blink her eyes open. They’re crusty with makeup, painting her vision slightly gray. Her retinas ache from the blaring sun coming through the windows.

He was right. It is a nice day. Spring must finally be coming in at full force.

As tired and downright _ shitty _ as she feels, Shel’s stomach rumbles; her hunger exacerbated by the smell of bacon. Her muscles strain as she inches out of the comforter. It’s amazing how much energy a simple task such as sitting up can take when you’re as exhausted as Shelley feels. _ Is this how old people feel? _

After a short struggle, she’s finally free of the fabric prison of her own making. her head spins and her vision goes spottier than it already was from the blood rushing from her head. But- she’s upright. She made it . She hears her mother's soft voice, comforting Edgar when he’d get especially frustrated in his studies. 

_ Baby steps, dear. Baby steps. _

It had been a while since she’d heard her mom use that voice.

She was relieved when Edgar came along (once he finally stopped screaming, anyway)- her mom finally had something to fill her nest. A new purpose. Maybe she would stop following her daughters _ every move, _ Shelley thought. Being a stay at home mom was bound to get boring as your kid got older. Avon didn’t work out, and there’s only so much you can do for half dead dogs. Just like there’s only so many times you can clean the same a vase before you go crazy. Most of what she heard from her mom these last few years were warnings and reprimands. _ Boys only want one thing, Shelley. Your future is more important than boys, Shelley. That skirt is too short, Shelley. Stop watching MTV and study, Shelley. Where on earth do you think you’re going at nine P.M. in a school night, Shelley? _

Okay, so maybe some of that was more Shelley’s fault than her mom’s. She knows she hasn’t always been the easiest. Well. To parent, anyway. Around the time Shelley started high school, she decided that she wasn’t going to be a baby anymore and come to her mommy for help. That’s not to say she succeeded; she still spent plenty nights crying in her mom’s arms. But there was a lot more crying she did on her own, and a lot more she never told her about. Shelley got better at hiding her dumb dramas anyway.

After the initial relief and _ excitement _from the pressure being off faded, Shelley… actually got a little jealous.

She didn’t remember her mom giving her that kind of undivided attention when she was little, or- _ learning, _ anyway. Sure, she was patient, loving, had the special touch and comfort only _ mom _ could. But she was… half there. Shelley remembers calling and calling and calling for her mom, right in front of her as a little girl. _ Mama can you help me put on my shoes? Mama, I’m out of juice. Mama, can we read Brown Bear again? _And- nothing. She was gone. Staring at the wall. It was like Shelley was invisible. It didn’t happen infrequently, either. Shelley became pretty independent from a young age because she got tired of waiting for her mom to come back from wherever she went, all while sitting there on the living room couch.

She thinks she has an idea where that was, now. The incidents occurred less and less frequently over the years. Edgar, bless him- never had to see that side of her mother (_ their _mother). As shitty as his time above ground has been, she’s glad he had a happy family, for a while. That he felt a mother’s unconditional love and attention. Maybe that’s part of what made him turn out so wonderful. Sweet. Kind. Gentlemanly. Smart. So, so different from her.

Gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette, she supposes.

It doesn’t take long for her to scarf down the waffles- it must have been over twenty-four hours since she last ate. It dulls the roiling acid, thank god. Her stomach’s at least stopped eating itself. She sees from the musty old grandfather clock by the door that it’s almost one P.M.. 

There’s dirt and blood under her fingernails, black lacquer she put on just for the revival (and immediately started to pick off) almost entirely chipped away, now. Her knees are more scuffed and bruised than usual. She’s pretty sure there are pine needles in places there really should not be pine needles.

That’s when it registers that Shelley not only had incestuous interspecies sex in the woods with the boy she thought was the love of her life last night, but Shelley had _ unprotected _incestuous interspecies sex with the boy she loved last night.

The nausea’s back in full swing.

She manages to keep herself from vomming right there and then- _ barely- _, but runs to the bathroom anyway, just to be safe. It’s something of a habit. Bathrooms are safe to her. Her bedroom door at never had a lock. So bathrooms were the only place she really felt secure. Where she felt safe and alone in the best way possible. She needs that right now.

The shaking’s back. She tries breathing exercises. The ones she learned in anger management counseling when she was eight and tried to break Jenny Wheeler’s arm for teasing her lunchbox. They help a little, but she’s still _ raw _ and _ helpless _ and can’t snap the _ fuck _ out of it. When she can’t stand it anymore, she scrambles to the shitty, grimy shower-tub combination on the other side of the room and turns the water on. She shoves her head under the freezing cold spray and gasps from the shock of it. Chest heaving and muscles spasming, she forces herself to climb in the rest of the way. Clutching herself and her wet clothes as comfort from the chill. The cold replaces the panic and fear and despair working her brain with that numb static. She stands there shaking as long as she can tolerate it. It doesn’t take long until it’s finally too much, and she snaps. In one quick motion that takes every ounce of energy she has; she turns the knob to warm, as far as it can go and just about _ sobs _with relief. That’s when her wobbly knees finally give out.

She kneels on the suction mat covering the fake porcelain and strips off the wet, borrowed clothes, tossing them to the other end of the tub with a _ splosh. _Shelley watches as the blood, sweat, and dirt spray off her skin and down the drain. 

She watches as the last touches her mom and dad ever gave her are washed away. 

Maybe the last touches Edgar ever gave her, too.

She swallows the lump in her throat, and follows the motions.

She scrubs away her mom and her dad and her _ Edgar _ with the sheriff’s bar of _ Irish Spring. _ It makes her sneeze. She doesn’t dare use his shampoo. Shelley doesn’t consider herself high maintenance or anything, but she still wouldn’t _ dare _ wash her hair without conditioner. Instead she rinses the tangles as best as she can with water, and tries to loosen the knots with her fingers. Only for her hands to get stuck on someth- _ oh. _

A leaf.

She can’t help it. She laughs.

It makes her think of what brought her to the freaking bathroom in the first place. What she- what _ they _ did last night. Hooking up in the woods was never a fantasy of hers. Maybe romantic in theory, but impractical and uncomfortable in practice. It’s actually confounding her that it _ wasn’t _ . And not only that, it was _ wonderful. _

Her memories are a lot different by the light of day, knowing what she knows now. She feels warmth. She also feels disgust. Her heart flutters. Her heart breaks into a million _ fucking _pieces.

She sees Edgar smile giddily at her, look at her like she’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She sees the ugliest baby in the world, with her eyes, Edgars ears, 13 webbed toes, and a hole in its heart. 

She can’t stop _ laughing. _ God what a mess they’ve made. No. What a mess _ she _ made. _ This is what you get when you lie, Meredith, _ she thinks. _ You get the incest antichrist for a grandchild. _

She hears a distant creak as she finishes rinsing, and muffled voices as she dries herself off. Someone’s calling for her.

“Shelley! You’re up!” The sheriff calls, sounding downright perky. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet, when you’re ready.”

Hell. “I… forgot to bring fresh clothes.” she calls, leaning against the wooden door.

“Pardon?” He hollers back. She repeats, louder.

“Can you just bring them to the door please?” 

“Of course! I’m sure Beth has something else small enough for ya.” Christ, she never noticed what a _ dad _he was. Through the door, she awkwardly grabs jeans two sizes too big and a sweatshirt printed with the name of a place she’s never seen. She wrings her hair out as much as she can, careful not to look in the mirror. She tries to focus on the numb static of her head, and puts on what she hopes is a game face as she joins the land of the living. Her not-quite-dry feet squeak on the dusty hardwood floors as she drags herself down the hallway. 

“There she is!” Reynolds announces as he sees her approach. He’s pouring coffee into a mug that says #1 _ POMERANIAN MOM. _“Shelley, I’d like you to meet Christine Marshall. She’s a social worker.” 

Ah. So _ that’s _what this is. “She’s here to help us work out what our next steps are. To get you… settled.” He finishes awkwardly.

“Hi there,” the woman smiles softly “so nice to finally meet you Shelley- I’m Christine.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” she deadpans. 

She’s… plain. Middle aged. Generic. She wears a blazer with outdated shoulder pads that don’t fit her quite right and dangly earrings that Shelley doesn’t understand how people tolerate. She smiles, unphased. It doesn’t seem like she’s noticed being brushed off by the little girl that looks vaguely like a drowned rat. _ Oh yeah, _ Shelley thinks, _ she’s gotten much worse. _The woman takes a breath and continues politely, “Well, now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get right down to it.” She takes a seat in the wooden rocking chair, obviously expecting Shelley to take a seat on the couch across from her. Which- of course, is exactly why Shelley doesn’t.

After the rest of the room catches up to the fact that Shelley is _ just fine standing, thank you, _she moves on. “Shelley, I’m here becaus-“

“-My parents are dead.” Shelley states. Christine stops and looks at her. She does _ not _ like the way she looks at her. That _ Oh, sweetie _look.

She gives Shelley a sad, tactful smile, “In a way. More specifically, I’m here because you’re about to go through some…_ difficult _transitions in your life. My job is to make those transitions go as smooth as possible”. It takes a lot of restraint for Shelley not to roll her eyes at that. Okay, maybe she does. A little bit.

“Just… ship me off to Mae and Randy, alright? Let’s just get this over with.” She’s so _ tired, _still. She needs a place to hibernate that’s not infested with an overbearing cop. 

Christine's brow furrows. “Who?” she asks, after a moment of hesitation.

“My mom’s cousins? The people I’m gonna be living with? Shouldn’t you know this?”

She just shakes her head. Slowly as she gives the sheriff a confused glance. “I’m… not familiar with those names. Unless you have some information or documentation that I don’t, there’s nothing that states you’ll be living with cousins.” _ Okay. What? _

“I- don’t understand.”

“Your mothers will- while outdated, states that in the case that you’re left without parents, custody would go to-“ She squints through the glasses strung around her neck as she looks through the color coded folder on her lap “Her brother, Andrew C. Vance.” she reads.

“Wait- wait wait wait, what?” _What the fuck? “Uncle_ _Andy? _I’ve only met him like- twice. He and my mom didn’t even _talk.” _She says, voice rising.

“Your mother’s will was last updated when you were about a year old, perhaps they were on speaking terms then?” Christine suggests.

She doesn’t even know what to think. Her memories of “Uncle Andy” are few and faint. When she would ask her mom about him, ask why she never saw him and why Mae and Randy mentioned him so rarely, always accompanied by a sad smile (like he was _ dead, _ despite the fact that Shelley never went to a funeral). Mom would always deflect. _ Another time, dear. _ Her dad wasn’t much better, but at least he was more straightforward. At least he was reassuring. _ Your mom and her brother had a... falling out of sorts, sweetheart. Who knows, maybe in a couple years we’ll start getting visits from him again. _

But they didn't. And now she was supposed to spend at _ least _the rest of her time as a minor with a stranger. “Shelley,” The social worker says earnestly “if you don’t feel comfortable or safe living with someone you think your parents wouldn’t approve of- we will find another home for you. We can’t force you to be somewhere you don’t want to be. Maybe we can get in touch with those cousins you mentioned.” She propositions.

_ Someone your parents wouldn’t approve of. _

Okay, it’s all kinds of fucked up, but hearing that sentence still sends a little thrill down her spine. She knows that’s weird, it’s wrong. It’s hard to retrain the way your brain reacts to certain things. Especially when it hasn’t even been a full day since… everything.

_ It hasn’t even been a full day. _

Unsettling glee over the idea of making her parents roll in the graves which haven’t even been dug yet _ aside. _ Its… _ weird. _She didn’t think she had a choice. Shelley hasn’t put much, if any thought into what happens next, because it seemed obvious. She’d stay with her mom’s redneck cousins and their noisy kids, she’d finish high school as fast as she could, and get the fuck out of here. 

And more importantly, get Edgar the fuck out of _ there. _

“Where does he live?” Mae and Randy live out in the sticks, like them- but further west, almost on the border. Far, far away from Wheeling.

“Morgantown. I’ve been attempting to get in touch-“

“I want to stay with my uncle.” Morgantown isn’t exactly close, but it’s clos_er. _ Maybe an hour and a half from Wheeling, as opposed to the four nearly four hour drive from Beckley, where her cousins live. And it’s actually a _ city. _

She wavers, confused by Shelley’s decisiveness. “Well, I still need to get in touch with him. I haven’t heard from him yet, I assume he’s at work now. I’ll also want to do an evaluation of the home-“

She shrugs. “Okay, fine. How long is this gonna take?”

“It all depends on your uncle, at this point. hopefully- you can be there this week. Now,” She starts “in the meantime, is there a...friend or family member? Someone you can stay with, short term. Continuing to stay with Mr. Reynolds here would be… quite unusual.”

Does Shelley _ have _friends anymore? 

She’s been pulling away from them, she knows. And some of them from her, once they knew she was buddy-buddy with _ the bat-boy _who put her semi-ex boyfriend’s sister in the hospital. 

She can’t imagine how they must feel about her now, knowing about Rick and Ruthie.

“Shelley?”

“I… haven’t heard from anyone. I don’t have my pager on me, it’s-“ at home. It’s at home.

Christine smiles sadly. She seems to know. “Well, I suppose working that out is step one,” She replies. Okay, She knows. She gets it. She gets that Shelley can’t go home. “we’ll go and grab some of your things, check your pager, see if you got any calls or messages”

Yeah, she doesn’t get it.

Sensing her hesitation Christine continues softly, “I'll be by your side the _ whole _time. You can leave whenever you want to. But... you need your own clothes, dear. And you can’t stay here with the sheriff.”

“You can if you need to,” Reynolds interjects, “It would be very unusual but so is this whole _ thing. _ I want you safe and healthy beyond anything else.” Kind of a wild thing to hear from the cop who watched your dad kill himself and your mom and did _ nothing. _

Maybe that’s unfair, but it happened. So, no. She doesn’t want to stay here.

“Let’s go.” 

* * *

“Are you alright?” Dr. Jarreau asks carefully, as her boss paces back and forth.

They had all gotten a page from Frank, and had taken a break from their rounds to reconvene in his office. Sydney had figured the kid was awake, but she has a feeling that there's something else going on. Doesn’t take a genius to see that.

“Just a bit overwhelmed right now, that’s all.” Frank says, still frantically pacing the conference room.

“Oh my god,” Sydney rolls her eyes. “Spit it _ out, _Frank. You called us for a reason. Just get it over with!”

His leather shoes squeak on the floor as he abruptly goes still, and takes a seat at the far end of the table. He sits for a moment, unnervingly calm. “Okay.” He starts, “So, I just got in touch with the sheriff.”

“That’s… good?” Bryan says.

“Yeah, it is.” he replies, scratching his white beard. “He just uh… had some interesting things to say. For example, it turns out the murder-suicide our own employee _ witnessed _was the man that alerted us to the patient in the first place. He had killed his wife in front of over a dozen people, including his daughter, the patient, and the sheriff.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. But considering the occupants of the room, it doesn’t last long.

_ "What. _The fuck.” Sidney says, loud enough she could probably be heard down the hall. She brings a shaky hand to massage her now pulsating forehead. 

“So, that’s why he didn’t answer my calls!” Frank let’s out a humorless laugh. “The whole… poison hypothesis came from him. That was the primary topic of my discussion with the sheriff. He said that as far as he knew, the girl who allegedly died from his wound the other night seemed to be recovering fine. He wasn’t sure why she was in the hospital for so long. He said it may have been mostly for research. Her blood was apparently not clotting as it should have been, after she was injured. As for the other individual that passed away, again _ allegedly _ because of the patient was... the first girl’s _ brother.” _ She sees her coworkers lower their heads at that. _ Jesus, _ someone mutters. Surely, they’re all thinking the same thing. _ How much more tragic can you get? _“The vet apparently showed up at some town event and announced whatever his discovery was with the patient’s saliva. Then he announced that the girl had died.” 

_ In front of the whole town? Why? _

She can’t be the only one this doesn’t make sense to. She looks to her colleagues to find her confusion mirrored in their faces. 

“This was also the boy’s first public outing, after his… supposed discovery. Now- the girl’s brother was there and became very agitated- understandably_ . _He then aimed a gun at the patient. The patient attacked him in response. Just a single bite- apparently it didn’t appear to be that bad of a wound from the sheriff’s perspective, but the vet went to take a look at him, being the closest thing they had to medical personnel on hand, and… then the boy was dead.”

“Wait.” Sydney says, “If he _ did _ cause their deaths, why did the girl die _ months _after he bit her, but her brother died almost immediately after he was attacked?”

“Another mystery,” He shrugs helplessly. “And another reason to take anything we know of the situation so far with a grain of salt. I also asked Mr. Reynolds if he really said the boy was half-_ bat _ , and how he knew that. He said he is _ certain _that the boy is half-bat, as wild as it is, but he wouldn't feel right telling me details or how he knew that.”

Sydney just sighs and shakes her head. “Wackos, I told you.”

“Probably.” Bryan says. He shakes his head, considering. “Awfully bold of a sheriff to say that.”

“Certainly is.” Frank says “Which is another thing that makes this so strange.”

“Like I said before, mass hysteria is definitely something to consider here.” Georgia adds.

Bryan snorts. “Yeah, I’d say so.” He says as a pager goes off. The four of them reach for their pockets, all too distracted to notice Frank freeze as he looks at his.

“He’s awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured spending more time fussing with this chapter would NOT be worth it, so i’m just putting this out there. hope my OC’s aren’t too boring or insufferable, they will be around a LOT. I normally wouldn’t want OC’s to be such important characters in fic, but I feel like I need them to do what I want to do here. edgar and shelley need a support system and it’s really fun imagining this story in a more realistic world (not too realistic tho, this is still about a bat boy). someone enjoys this, drop me some feedback!
> 
> also, I’m at about 50k in my google docs!! yay for moi!! updates will be sporadic, i’m trying to keep up with once a month or so, i just don’t want to get ahead of myself in terms of posting when i don’t have something to follow it.


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